100 Themes, 100 Stories, 100 Worries
by WanderingWoodskeep
Summary: Small drabbles based on 100ThemesChallenge's Variation 1 on Deviant Art. These were used to help me take a break and/or warm up for writing my story for NaNoWriMo, and since an OC is a prominent character, she will be mentioned and not fleshed out well. If that irks you, then this will probably not be the story for you.
1. I, Introduction

Welcome, one and all! As mentioned in the summary/description, this story will mention/include/be from the point of view from a female OC, who will not be fleshed out as these are drabbles set throughout the Jak and Daxter games. Her actual development will appear in the small novel I'm writing taking place during Jak 2, and certain situations and/or character interactions may not make sense. Thank you for reading!

* * *

 **I. Introduction**

It was no secret that Jak was the Baron's favorite 'pet' in the Dark Warrior Program. He was, in the eyes of the rest of the prison, the oldest dog around, who'd seen hell and traversed it well. If he broke out, they whispered when the guards weren't around, then the Baron would have one hell of a problem on his hands, that's for sure.

But the new girl they'd heard the guards talk about, they didn't know a damn thing. Roomed with the old dog, doesn't speak a word, just like him. Some laughed, thinking the old dog would finally get some action. He deserved it, all things considered. Others shook their heads, well versed in the ways of Erol. She'd be dead within a week, if the boy didn't do it first.  
She made it a week, then two, then a month, then two months, and some had hope, or were filled with dread. Hope that another warrior would break out and free them. Dread that they'd be twisted into weapons, the Baron's hold reigning supreme over all.

Finally, shower day arrived, the prisoners eagerly awaiting to be brought into the waiting room, hoping that they'd be in the group brought in to see the new Dark Warrioress. Most left disappointed, as the guards only let thirty prisoners in each waiting room, but the small group that did left with smiles, flat faces, or frowns.

"What did she look like?"

"A battle-worn warrior, might've been a traitor in the guard, or an Underground fighter. She'll save us, I know she will." Or, "A sorry sight, that girl. She looked like the shower room was the last place she wanted to be. Can't blame her." Or, "She looked like shit. Covered in blood, shaking like a leaf in a tornado, I thought she might collapse the moment the spray hit her."

"Well, how old was she?"

"As old as you and me, my friend. She knows what she's doing." Or, "Teenager, just as old as the boy. For a moment, I thought they might've been related." Or, "A child. Lost, alone, afraid. She's just like the rest of us."

"Where was the boy?"

"By her side, willing to strike down the guards with righteous fury! The only thing that held them back was that they wanted a shower. Cowards, should've killed the red bastards on sight!" Or, "Right next to her, standing guard. She was covered in blood; couldn't tell if it was her's or someone else's, but if it were that then she would've been killed long before the showers." Or, "Their arms were brushing, both were terrified as they tried to get in the showers, both bloody and bruised. I tried to feel empathetic, but it was too pitiful for me to even dredge up the emotion."

Locked in the solitary confinement wing, Goseph grinned. They were a great team, practically twins. He couldn't wait to see them screw the Baron seven ways to the wasteland.


	2. II, Love

This is heavily, _heavily_ inspired by the fic _Safety_ on Archive of our Own, and though it might not be apparent in the beginning and middle, the last paragraphs do kind of rely on that crux. For those who are confused, Jak is living in the Naughty Ottsel with Dax and Tess after Jak X, along with Woh'hue (the OC). In _Safety,_ there's a polyamorous relation between Jak, Daxter, and Tess, and I'd highly recommend it if you're interested and not grossed out by NSFW stuff. The relationship doesn't feel forced and it's actually quite adorable at points.

* * *

 **II. Love**

He might've known what love was. Back in Sandover, even with his lack of voice, Keira had almost _adored_ him. He never figured out why, or if it could've become something more, before his life became endless metal walls and regular injections, with various tests thrown in between.

He didn't know what love was. When the girl- _Woh'hue_ -became his cellmate, there was nothing but general indifference towards her, perhaps a well of despair pooling in his gut, because she had been sent to suffer the same fate as him. The guards taunted, expecting him to do vile _things_ to her, but all he could do was drape a blanket over her and hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could save her from the worst of the worst.

Perhaps he couldn't feel love. When Ashelin kissed him, when Keira kissed him, when Erol taunted him, when Torn yelled at him, when young _er_ Samos tried to assuage his fears and prevail with logic and wisdom, he could feel nothing. The only thing he could feel and properly _connect_ to were rage, anguish, or good old apathy.

But maybe he could, he thought as Daxter drew out a smile with his jokes, as he met Pecker and Onin, as Woh'hue and him blasted away at Metal Heads and Krimzon Guards. Maybe not love, but emotions that were positive, emotions that made him feel lighter and didn't weigh him down.

Oh yes, he could feel love. As he leaned over the dying king of Spargus, hearing his last request, only to realize with dawning horror that the lost son was him, a realization that didn't reach Damas before he left the land of the living. Dark Eco bubbled in his veins until it broke through his skin, nothing could subdue it as he screamed, Woh'hue joining as she, too, grieved. He'd lost so many people in his life, before arriving in Haven, while assisting the Underground, but Damas was another thing entirely. He'd never lost someone close to him before, never like this, never in front of him, never so slowly and painfully, where life ebbed away instead of being ripped without an ounce of pain. His Light Eco could only heal himself, not another, he'd _tried_ , and he could only watch and do nothing, could only be _useless_. He'd loved Damas like a father, how utterly ironic that was, and now he was _gone._

Perhaps he should never love again. Keira and him weren't working, Ashelin was taken, Daxter and Tess were happy, Woh'hue was his sister in name and emotions. He didn't want love, not after what had happened, because everyone close to him ended up suffering. Perhaps he was destined to live alone, to never make ties with anyone again, but Woh'hue's middle name was stubborn, and she clung to him like a vine.

Maybe this is what love could be like, he pondered, as he stared up at the ceiling. The healing lights of the reforming Haven City shined through the window, landing in rectangular beams onto them through the curtains. Woh'hue was just a hair's breadth away on his left with Daxter nuzzling her breasts, Tess curled on his chest and breathing deeply, all asleep but him as he thought too deeply about the world, a recurring problem. He closed his eyes and breathed out, hoping that nightmares would stay away tonight.

Perhaps, he wondered as he heard the trio breathe around him, lulling him into sleep. Perhaps he could feel love if this was what it was.


	3. III, Light

Admittedly, this one isn't as fleshed out or as long as the other drabbles, mainly because I haven't given much thought to Light Jak and what he must experience while in that state, as compared to Dark Jak, who I've thought about a lot. I did want to bring up a bit of Woh'hue's character in this, but of course, it came out a little... flat.

For those confused, as I don't want to alienate everyone whose reading this without the background knowledge of the main novel, there's a language barrier between Jak and 'Woh'hue', which is 'Cassie' in English. As such, whatever she says won't make sense to Jak and Daxter, and vice versa. If there are any translated words in any of the following pieces, then I'll put the translation at the end of the chapter/story.

* * *

 **III. Light**

It was ironic, almost, how Jak yearned for the light after being subjected to the darkness for the longer period of time, but Woh'hue shied away from it.

Light Jak was this angelic being, tendrils of light curling out from his back like tentacles, with smaller particles connecting them to form the iconic and incredibly useful wings. His form tinted to such a dark shade of blue that it was nearly black, clothes included in the manipulation of light, the outline of his body glowing vibrantly. One look at his eyes would paralyze most with common sense, a blinding white, the polar opposite of Dark's, just how it was supposed to be.

Of course, Light Woh'hue was not much different. Her braided hair would flow in an invisible breeze, and she was often seen smiling or giggling as she looked at her enemies, but she hated the form, often only using it as an absolute last resort.

See, Jak needed to feel the balance of Light and Dark, two halves of him, where he was the dividing line. Woh'hue never needed that sense of balance, but she'd always preferred Dark, to the point where she'd said she wouldn't mind becoming a _Sage_.

(Of course, they'd both done their best to assuage that dream, as they'd met two Dark Sages, and they never wanted that same fate to fall upon her)

But they both suffered from the same side effects. Though they radiated warmth, they felt colder than a northern tundra, to the point where they would willingly strip off their protective layers of rags and forgo the risk of sunburn to stand directly in the desert sun's wrath. Their emotions became nonexistent, and it was a small crisis the first time they fell out of it, desperately hoping to feel _something_ given the absence of everything else, even pain of a marauder's bullet.

Maybe, they mused later, that was why she hated turning Light. Her emotions were so keyed into the main aspects of her personality, of expressing herself when words failed, that the lack of it was so off-putting that she was willing to dive headfirst into the darkness instead of finding 'salvation' as an angelic persona.


	4. IV, Dark

Since I was gone yesterday for Thanksgiving without access to my work and the internet, I've decided to make that up by posting two drabbles today. A good idea, to, as III and IV are kind of like a pair. I did like this one better than Light, mainly because I love dialogue and Dark form in general.

* * *

 **IV. Dark**

"So what's it like being Dark?"

Jak nearly spat out his beer, eyes wide as he turned to Daxter with an incredulous air around him. The ottsel certainly wasn't drunk (he'd seen him drunk, and this was nowhere near how insane he could get when he was), but that was the kind of expression he'd expected once his friend was a good ten drinks in. They were lucky tonight, the Hip Hog Heaven Saloon mostly empty with the rest of its occupants drunk and nearly passed out at their stool, and Krew having retired early. Tess was the one serving them, and being a member of the Underground, as well as a regularly informed citizen, had heard of the terrifying monster that had escaped the fortress, and her attention changed from cleaning the counter top to staring at the demolition duo.

"Uh…"

"Aw c'mon, it can't be _that_ hard a question."

"It's not, it's just… didn't expect you to ask it. Also, I don't really know how to explain it."

"How do ya _don't know?_ "

"I've never had to." He tipped his bottle of beer towards Woh'hue, who was busy looking at a holocard for children that introduced them to letters and simplistic words. "The only other person who I could have had to tell was experiencing it alongside me, and Woh'hue's not much of a conversation partner."

Daxter turned to look at her, seeing that she was experimentally scribbling out the letters, mumbling the sounds underneath her breath. It was a slow start, but she'd get there eventually.

"Well, now's yer chance to try and put it inta words."

He swirled his beer, took a sip, and cleared his throat. "Well, uh… I can't really tell you."

Now Daxter looked vexed, pouting and crossing his arm as Tess poured him an Earthquake: a mix that was incredibly sugary that was certain to get Daxter drunk off his ass. "Okay, this isn't an Underground secret, fer cryin' out loud, you can tell _me_ , at the very least. What, is it the location? Don't wanna talk 'bout it in a bar?"

He chuckled, raising his hand Tess when she moved to grab another beer for him with a slight shake of his head. "No, it's not that I don't trust you, or anything like that, Dax. I can't tell you because I don't really remember the experience enough to give you specific details."

"…Tell me you're joking."

"Unfortunately." He sighed, coordination a _tad bit_ off (sure, he had the bigger body than Daxter, but the Ottsel could easily out drink him simply due to tolerance levels) as he pointed at his head. "Whenever Dark comes out, my brain relies on base instincts to fight, and I don't really process everything I'm doing. One moment I'm down a back alley surrounded by the Krimzon Guard, the next I'm in the Industrial District covered in blood."

"Well, what _do_ you remember?"

Jak frowned, hand falling back to his beer as his eyes clouded. His wrists and ankles hurt, the phantom feeling of electricity racing up and down his body making him tense as Erol's leering grin filled his vision, Woh'hue's terrified expression imprinted in his mind. The urge to rip everything around him to shreds, until there was nothing but a burning building, splinters and chunks of bloodied remains where the bar stood.

He downed the rest of his beer and gestured for Tess to bring him another one, to add it onto his ever-growing tab.

"Nothing." He said, voice deep, gruff, and leaving no room for argument. "I remember nothing."


	5. V, Seeking Solace

More of a personal headcannon, but I always thought that Jak and Daxter would love music, listning or singing to it whenever they could. Thankfully, that's what iPhones are for! The songs mentioned in this piece (seriously, mentioned, they are never referred to by title) are _Yobanashi Deceive_ by Jin, _Burn_ from Hamilton, and really any generic pop song after that. The reason why I picked these songs? I hit shuffle on my phone and wrote a description for whichever songs came up.

* * *

 **V. Seeking Solace**

When Ums'i'yog gave her her iPhone (which she later figured out was taken from her by the Krimzon Guard and extensively researched, only for them to find nothing useful or break open without ripping it in half, which they weren't going to risk), it was like a godsend.

Sure, she couldn't call anyone, or text, or access the internet, but she didn't _expect_ to. No, what she cared about the most was her music which, to her absolute joy, was _untouched._ All of her music, all of her illegally downloaded songs, were intact and in one piece.

Of course, this was after Qi'otu had created a charger for her-which she was internally indebted to, for good reason-but god was it amazing. After more than a year of nonsense language that Duq couldn't teach her inside a cell, hearing music in some form of recognizable language was a huge relief.

It became a ritual, with the three of them. Do whatever missions the Eg'vitr'taeg'v or Q'tic or some other odd job wanted them to do, head home for dinner, and play music while they cooked or after they had gone to the soup kitchen and they were safe in their room. Sometimes they'd dance, other times they'd sit and listen, just letting the notes and singer soothe their sore, aching bodies after fighting off Metal Heads or driving like mad men to avoid the guard.

Duq and Vuf'bit obviously didn't understand what they were saying, but they liked some of her picks, mainly just for the musical value. She'd do her best, later, when she knew their language, to tell them the story that some would sing, or translate the lyrics to the best of her ability. "A boy who only lied to live," For Daxter's favorite, fast paced with hard guitars, good drums, and a sharp, quick tongue. "A man… married fucks another woman who is not his wife," She stumbled for a moment, not knowing how to say 'cheat' or 'had an affair', but the swear worked its job, the wince on the two boys' faces telling. "Music." She would say, when a song did not have a story, but the translated lyrics would do, though those took time to decipher.

There were days when they needed the energy, so a playlist for all the hard rock she had, or pop songs that would drive you to do something. When they just needed to breathe, there was a playlist of all her mellow, calming songs, the ones that didn't go fast, had lyrics that would make you cry if you paid attention.

And on that fateful day in M'jufrem, Dark Eco swirling in her stomach like a lump of led, Duq and her both sobbing hysterically as the city wept with them, she made the playlist that was filled with the most anger-filled, grieving songs, and blasted it through their shared room until the phone died.

* * *

 _Translations:_

Ums'i'yog: Ashelin

Qi'otu: Keira

Eg'vitr'taeg'v: Underground

Q'tic: Krew

Duq: Jak

Vuf'bit: Daxter

M'jufrem: Spargus


	6. VI, Break Away

Admittedly, I don't always like certain cannon pairings. Typically, I go for the fan favorites or crack pairings that no one else likes, but Torn and Ashelin are a couple I can get behind. I enjoy their chemistry and, thankfully, since they have an idea of what they want, they don't turn into squabbling idiots over the smallest things, which is what I absolutely hate.

* * *

 **VI. Break Away**

 _Ashelin,_

 _I'm resigning from the guard today. Erol's been talking about experimenting with Dark Eco to make a weapon, something awful that will ruin several lives. If it works it'll be even worse, destroy Metal Heads by the hundreds, strike fear into everyone. As much as I love your father, I can't support this._

 _I… I've been thinking of joining the Underground. They need someone who knows how the guard works, and I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if I let this continue._

 _I'm sorry._

 _\- Torn_

* * *

 _Torn,_

 _I know. Being the head of the guard, the notice would have to go through me. I assume that's why you wrote the email. I've since deleted it, wiping it from the server's history, and I should ask you do the same for when this reaches you._

 _Of course, mainly because it's protocol, I've signed off on your resignation. If it weren't for the fact that my family name keeps me on this job, as being a princess of all things is worse than working in an endless loop of oppression. It's also to blame for me being unable to join you._

 _But being a member of the guard can be a massive assistance for you. If you do manage to join the Underground, fight the good fight against my father, then I'll gladly be an inside man for your cause._

 _And just so you know, despite the masks we will need to put up, this doesn't change a thing between us._

 _\- Ashelin_


	7. VII, Heaven

Haven Forest was, despite for all those god damn grind rails, one of my favorite place to go for missions. It reminded me of the Forbidden Jungle, and I couldn't help but think that Jak and Daxter would've also liked the place, if only because it reminded them of home, just a tiny bit. I developed a headcannon that Haven Forest was the Forbidden Jungle, just, y'know, future-y.

Still, fuck grind rails. I hate those damn things.

* * *

 **VII. Heaven**

" _This_ is the life." Daxter sighed, floating on his back in the waterlogged area of Haven Forest. They'd taken care of the Metal Head scouts hat 'The Shadow' in all his loggy holiness wanted them to get rid of, and the ottsel was taking advantage of the given break. Sure, the pond wasn't that warm, and it was entirely possible he could get gobbled by a sea shark or something as equally stupid and deadly, but it felt nice to take a breather and swim without wasting the hot water.

"C'mon Daxter, we've got to _go_." Jak said from the shore, Jet Board tucked under his arm. Woh'hue did seem more interested in the pond, crouching with the tips of her boots brushing the water, peering into the depths. Of course, knowing the hero boy, it'd be a cold day in the wastelands before he let her swim in waters that were dirty and could have a disease floating around, or have something living in there that'd bite at her ankles.

"We've got to take a break once in awhile." He shouted back, lifting one of his hands and twirling it at the wrist, not lifting his head in acknowledgement. "Sides, doesn't his kind of remind you of Sandover?"

He paused, a win in Daxter's book. Sure, it wasn't too reminiscent of the actual village, but the nearby forest was pretty close in just general resemblance, only the Lurkers were swapped for Metal Heads. Still, Jak was headstrong, and he recovered not a second later. "No. If we stay here any longer, they're going to get concerned."

"Or, and I'm just saying it for the sake of saying it, maybe they'll say 'damn, they're taking a while' and move on with their lives." Still, he flipped over and started a butterfly stroke back to shore. When Jak was like this, it was impossible to argue with him. Upon getting onto dry, solid ground, he shook out his fur, making sure that the diy water fell onto Jak's boot and pants. "Alright, let's get goin' tough guy. Did you send Woh'hue ahead or somethin'?"

Jak's face screwed up, and he turned around, his stomach dropping as he saw the discarded boots, gloves, and banner-hood. Woh'hue had vanished, and he had no clue where she'd gone.

A loud splash from the pond gave them an answer. With rising panic, Jak ripped off his boots, discarded his Jet Board and Morph Gun, and dove into the water, Daxter hopping onto his shoulder a moment later as he kept watch from a higher, slightly drier perch. "Dammit, where the hell did-"

Daxter screamed as something breached the surface, droplets flying wildly as Woh'hue gasped for air. A curtain of black hair fell in her face, but it did nothing to hide the gigantic grin on her face. " _Precursors!_ What th' hell didya think you were doin'? Goin' round an' givin' me a heart attack…"

Oblivious, Woh'hue raised her arms and showed them something in her hands. It was a Precursor Orb, rust free and sparkling in the mid afternoon light. Their eyes widened, with Daxter grabbing and examining the copper, egg-shaped artifact. It was barely scratched, the water keeping it clean and protected from greedy collectors. Well, not like they were much different at this point. "Where'd you get it?"

She pointed at a small lip underneath the surface before turning and swimming further in, diving underneath for a few seconds and then emerged with a cheer. Another Precursor Orb was in her grasp, and she laughed at the boys' stunned expressions.

Daxter smirked and nudged Jak's head taking a slight amount of joy from the disgruntled noise that left him. "Well, guess there's a good reason to stick around, now."

The human sighed and rolled his eyes, paddling after Woh'hue, who could easily see the orbs through the murky waters. "Fine…"

"Aw, _c'mon,_ admit it." Daxter opened his arms wide as he padded around in a circle on Jak's shoulder. The motion was safe, not resulting in him slipping off and falling into the water unprepared. "This place is like a piece o' heaven!"


	8. VIII, Innocence

**VIII. Innocence**

In Cassie's personal opinion, it was utterly ironic that the little Kid, a practical angel when compared to the rest of the city, was paired with the evilest dog known to mankind.

She wasn't even entirely sure if it was a dog, really. Its fur was this weird shade of green, with odd brown spikes coming out of its back and down its tail. It growled at everyone, except for the Kid and Duq, but it did seem to tolerate her. Or, well, tolerate her more than it did with Muwam. Maybe it was because it had tasted her blood and, in its mind, approved of her.

While bringing the Kid to Qat, the dog didn't have a seat to sit in. Duq was busy driving, and the Kid and Vuf'bit taking up the passenger's, and she was standing in the middle taking shots. So, like the smart devil it was, it wrapped its pudgy little legs around the foot she left in the car and then chomped down for added stability.

Her pants were thick, probably could take a bit of a beating, but this dog must've had serrated teeth, and it easily pierced the denim-like material, digging into the tender skin of her calf. She screamed, pain lacing up and down her leg, threatening to topple her, but she powered through it, refusing to stop because of the satanic dog. She still shot away, wincing whenever the Xaawut jumped or dove.

When they stopped-guards still chasing them but abandoning their trademark hovercrafts-the dog moved like it was going to let go. Whether it was because of crazed rationality or a masochistic desire, she forcefully grabbed the mutt and pushed it against her leg. "Let go, and I'll turn you into a pair of fur-lined gloves."

It got the message, tightening its grip and emitting a growl, the sound irritating the vicious wound. She moved slowly, buying Duq and the Kid time as she dealt with the guards. Once she heard Vuf'bit shout her name, she turned and ran, limping as the pain in her leg increased as she entered the place they met Pog. He wasn't present, however, and Qat was there to greet them.

The dog then let go, thankfully blood free (unless you looked really closely at its teeth), and she pulled up her pants to look at the wound. Admittedly, it wasn't as bad as it felt. Each puncture mark was relatively clean and not messy, and it hadn't hit the bone. The bite marks might need a few stitches… each, but it was easily not the worst she'd been through.

"Little Devil." She whispered, glaring at the dog. The Kid patted it on the head, giggling as the dog licked his face. Duq and Vuf'bit went up to the old man, asking him a question, and coming back with a small vial of _R'tiig Iha_ in hand. "That's their name now: Devil and Angel."

* * *

 _Translations:_

Duq: Jak

Muwam: Samos

Qat: Kor

Vuf'bit: Daxter

Xaawut: Zoomer

R'tigg Iha: Green Eco


	9. IX, Drive

**IX. Drive**

" _J'redu, j'redu, j'redu!_ "

Jak didn't need to be a genius to understand what Woh'hue was trying to say. Daxter and the Kid took the passenger seat as he jumped into the driver's, flooring the accelerator and praying to the Precursors that the damn zoomer wouldn't blow up because of the amount of Krimzon Guards shooting them. Woh'hue jumped on last minute, placing one foot in between the two seats and the other on top of the car, facing the back as she tried to take pot shots at anyone following them.

It didn't help keep the heat off their backs, but it certainly helped keep them in the sky and not getting blown to smithereens.

He was known, infamous really, for having tunnel vision. He focused on the path in front of him, swerving wildly when he could vaguely hear another zoomer on his right, or jumping zones to avoid a Hellcat that was trying to ram them.

Of course, they had the slowest god damn zoomer, because it was a two seater, and it didn't have great mobility or turning speed, and god dammit the Kid was going to either die or get arrested or electrocuted and

Too many things were happening at once. He could hear Daxter talking, either yelling at the guards or giving him an encouragement or telling the Kid that everything was going to be fine when everything looked ass backwards and a few steps from hell. Woh'hue was shouting, either in pain or slurs at the guards shooting at them.

He couldn't hear the crocadog.

Why that worried him the most, he would never be able to properly pin down. Maybe it was because he didn't want the kid to lose one of the few good things in his life. Maybe it was because he kind of liked the dog. Maybe it was because, in all the chaos of the moment, the lack of a specific noise just increased his anxiety.

But that eventually bled into the background as they jolted to a stop, the Kid jumping out of his seat with him and Daxter right on his heels. The Scatter Gun rang out like a bell as each Krimzon Guard was blown back, Woh'hue's sniper rifle sounding off after each beat, keeping the Hellcat cruisers at bay.

The door to the power station opened after a frantic pounding, Kor greeting them and ushering them in. The dog still wasn't with them, and it was only because Daxter cried out her name that he remembered to keep the door open for Woh'hue, who limped in a few moments later.

"Well, we found the dog…" Jak mumbled as he looked down at her leg. The crocadog had taken the moment to latch onto her leg, wrapping its tail around her ankle and digging its teeth into her calf, slobber and blood staining the dark blue material a wet brown. With a grunt, she pushed its head down and out, a fresh wave of blood following, and the crocadog let go. With a pitiful whine, it rubbed its head against her uninjured leg, before going towards the kid. Thankfully, there wasn't any blood on its muzzle.

"Hey, old man!" Daxter shouted as Jak slung her arm over his shoulder, assisting her further into the power station. "Y'got any Green Eco? Our friend here got pretty banged up on the drive over."

* * *

 _Translation (though it's kind of self explanatory):_

J'redu: Drive


	10. X, Breathe Again

THIS WAS MY FAVORITE ONE TO WRITE okay. Okay so, I don't feel like there's enough (am I the first one?) people writing about Daxter's transformation, or, for that matter, any of the ottsels. I do have one where it talks about Veger dealing with the transformation in the following moments afterwards, but Daxter is sorely underwritten unless it's, like, shipping. No one talks about those moments in the very beginning, I've read one, but it concerned him getting used to his new body and not the actual terror of not having your familiar, gangly body anymore and the whole (probably painful) change.

* * *

 **X. Breathe Again**

When he fell into the vat of Dark Eco, time slowed down. He learned later that, when in a life or death situation, perception of time either slowed down to where everything happens with crystal-clear clarity, or it blends together until everything becomes a massive blur of chaos and screaming and _oh gods did a bullet hit me._

But that hasn't happened yet. Right now, he was a gangly human teenager who had just witnessed his friend's first fight with a Lurker, which had ended in an awesome explosion. Then he'd been blown back, and Jak had hit him, and he was airborne over the pit of black oozy stuff. The wind had gotten knocked out of him, a shout leaving him for just a second as he flailed.

He had many things he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Samos he was a stupid old man with a log up his ass. He wanted to tell Keira that, even though he doubted that it would ever happen, he really wanted them to be an item. He wanted to tell Jak that he should've listened to him, or Samos, and not go to Misty Island, and that this adventure was _so_ not worth him dying. He wanted to tell the entire village of Sandover (minus the two teens he mentioned) to go screw themselves, even that little bird thingie that rest on the log in Samos's hair.

Jak turned to look at him. His back hit the dark ooze and he sank faster than a boulder in Geiser Heights. He didn't even get to say goodbye.

It burned. That was the first thing he could register, that his skin was aflame, clothing gone from the caustic properties and leaving him bare to the blinding pain. His mouth opened to scream, but he choked as the dark liquid poured into his mouth, some getting swallowed, but most travelled into his lungs, and he choked. He couldn't see, the liquid covering his eyes like a blindfold, but he could feel and vaguely hear the precious bubbles of air leaving his mouth and popping.

His body seized, pain lancing through his body like a thousand needles stabbing in and then twisting around in each individual pore of his body. His spine seemed to have a mind of its own, twisting and then pushing out, the pain blurring his already dampened perception. His ears felt like they were being twisted and pulled from his head, his head pounding as he scrabbled at his hair-was it getting shorter?

The darkness was blasted away, so suddenly that it felt like whiplash, and Daxter could hear one thing as he was forcefully propelled up and out of the vat. _Go._

Eyes closed, Daxter felt the air ripple and whistle around him as he was thrown out of the liquid. His body thumped once against the ground, the force making him cough up some of the ooze that had filled his lungs, jumped up again, and then landing face first. His body skin, legs and hips raised as he skidded forward, before they flopped down against the dusty, but reassuringly solid ground.

He coughed, dragging in precious, dusty air, something that he would never take for granted again (but, admittedly, he would have liked it to be cleaner). He pushed himself up, feeling his ears slide back as he grimaced. "Man, that _stung._ "

Turning, he saw Jak kneeling, facing him with this confused, weird expression that he'd seen only once before. Keira had made this newfangled driving thing that no one in the village had seen before, let alone thought up. While Jak had appreciated his best girl friend's creativity and mechanical genius, he was just as confused as the rest of the village was concerning what it actually _did._

But that was justified confusion. It was at a new thing no one'd ever seen before. He was looking at Daxter like he'd just grown a third arm with a foot on the end instead of a hand.

Plus, the pain from earlier might've made him a little bit upset. "I told ya we shouldn't have come here, and you listened…!" Jak's expression had turned from confusion to shock, jaw hanging open and eyes wider than those fancy disk thingies his uncle owned. " _What?_ "

His friend's eyes flicked from Daxter's face to his hand, and with a respectful amount of self-restraint, he brought it up to his face.

Fur.

His hand was covered in deep orange, bordering on red near his fingertips, short, sleek fur. His glove was still there, sure, but that did nothing to hide the tiny, ebony black claws that peeked out. Experimentally, he willed it to close into a fist, hoping in his mind that the hand in front of him wouldn't obey the command.

It did, the claws digging into the leather material, but still just as poignant in persuasion.

That was his hand.

 _That was his hand that was covered in fur and now had tiny baby claws what the hell._

He screamed, flailing and pounding the ground, hoping that there wouldn't be any pain. If there wasn't any pain, then this was a dream. A crazy, ass-backwards dream that he would wake up from and be underneath some guys' house or in Jak's hammock and not tiny and fuzzy and distinctly _human_.

But the pain was real, the dust that clung to his fur-coated body was real, and oh god everything that was happening was real.

 _Get a grip_.

He stood, clawed hands digging into the patch of fur on his chest, willing his heartbeat to slow and for him to breathe in a way that was hyperventilation. The last thing that he needed was to pass out. "Okay, okay. I'm fine, I'm _fine._ "

He made the mistake of looking down at the rest of his body. He was expecting the furriness and the slightly altered feet-that wasn't what got to him. Not only was he lacking a pair of pants (seriously, if he could keep the gloves and the goggles perched atop his furry head, then why couldn't he have kept his pants?), but there was a long, thick tail swaying from his back.

He screamed, again. This time jumping onto Jak's chest and gripping his eco belt and tunic, rearing back, and screaming at the top of his lungs. He could breathe, sure, and he was out of that stupid vat, but like hell did he like the end results.


	11. XI, Memory

Admittedly, I ripped the pancake recipe off of a random website, and then simply wrote out my own instructions in a note form: niche enough for me to understand, hard for anyone else to comprehensively follow. Ironically enough, I don't like pancakes. Too fluffy for me.

* * *

 **XI. Memory**

Cassie didn't have a good memory, she'd openly admit that. Of all the things the Dark Warrior Program did to her (improve her eyesight, her reflexes, give her pretty bad anger management issues), improving her memory was not one of them. She kept notes, scrawling things on her skin, reciting it repeatedly and hoping later that she'd remember whatever she was trying to recall.

But even before Spargus, before Haven, before that fateful day at Harouche Industries, she left notes on her phone, or texted herself. Typically, it was homework, or something she might've wanted to look into more, or even something she wanted to buy. But, deep down, at the very bottom of the massive archive she'd accumulated, was a list of recipes.

Most of them were her mother's, and once she was gone, she was responsible for cooking and preparing her own breakfast, lunch, and dinner. As such, a list of recipes at her fingers was a great addition, and she'd become well versed in cooking, knowing most of the ins and outs of what to do and what not to do.

Given the general chaos of their lives, she didn't have many opportunities to cook. After everything had calmed down after Damas' death, they moved back to Haven. Jak stayed at Keira's house with her father, while she stayed in the new palace erected for Ashelin, a door down from Torn's room. But, eventually, they converged and, once Tess and Daxter gave them permission, they moved into the condo above the bar. They hadn't gotten a second bed, typically they'd crash on some piece of furniture that was available, but it didn't bother them.

Today, she wanted to make it special. Almost like a thank you for sticking with her, or giving them a place that was snore-free for them to sleep. Taking out her phone (around thirty percent, she'd need to find some Blue Eco soon), she opened up the notes app and scrolled through until she got to the very last recipe she'd marked.

 **Pancakes:**

\- 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

\- 3 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

\- 1 teaspoon salt

\- 1 tablespoon white sugar

\- 1 1/4 cups milk

\- 1 egg

\- 3 tablespoons butter, melted

\- Put all the dries in one bowl, the wets in another, and sift together. Make a well in the dries and pour in the wets. Mix them together with a whisk until smooth. Use a frying pan and put a small square of butter on it, wait for it to melt, and then pour a 1/4 cup of batter on for one pancake. Flip when the side bubbles, serve when both sides are brown, hot. Add syrup or whatever other toppings you want. Bon apetit.

If she wanted to be honest, she did ask Tess if there was an equivalent of some kind to baking soda (which there was, thankfully), but everything else was done by herself. Unfortunately, whipped cream and maple syrup were not available, either because they were rarer than a Power Cell or because no one knew where to get it, how to make it, or what it was. It was a sad day when she discovered that, but she didn't mourn long.

The test pancake-made at three in the morning due to a nightmare-tasted different. She betted on that, really, because Yakow Milk and Flut Flut eggs had to taste different from 2% and Chicken eggs in some way. The pancakes were a bit tougher than what she liked, but they were just as sweet. Some blueberries might've made it even better, but she wasn't pushing her luck with what she could find, either in the bar or in whatever shop was open at the ungodly hour.

She stuck the batter in the fridge, took a quick nap, woke up around half past four, and then started baking again, mainly tests to see if she had to cook it longer for better flavor to come out, or if certain little fruits worked to sweeten or dampen the flavor.

Eventually, she had a good combination for her own little stack of three, then she started cooking three more while she preheated the oven to keep them warm. One for Jak, one for Daxter, one for Tess.

Finally, she dug in, enjoying the fluffy taste of home. The bar's private kitchen, mainly only for the four that lived there, didn't look like any of the kitchens she'd had back home, but if she closed her eyes, and imagined that the hum of Zoomers was instead the thrum of cars, then she could imagine she was back in New York. Her mother might've been alive, or might've been dead, but she was somewhere like home, and maybe, just maybe, her father might've been waiting in the doorway, or Vanessa might've been giggling at the table across from her. "You make the best pancakes, y'know that?"

The drag and click of claws against the floor jolted her out of her reverie. Daxter yawned and stretched, fly unzipped on his jeans as he scratched his happy trail. With bleary eyes, he stumbled into the kitchen, whiskers and nose twitching. "Wha's cookin'?"

Cassie stood from her chair, taking one of the pancakes and folding it, nibbling it as she went. "Pancakes. Made 'em a bunch when I was back home. I made one for you, if you want to try."

The ottsel shrugged, scratching his chin and examining something under his claws. "Sure, why the hell not. Precursors, what time is it?"

"Like… five? Six? I've been up for super long, man, my brain can't shut up." She opened the oven and took out the pancakes after she grabbed a towel, taking the spatula and flipping it onto a small plate she'd put to the side. "Here ya go."

With a sleepy yet curious expression, Daxter tentatively bit down on the pancake, only for his eyes to widen and his ears to flick up. He devoured it in seconds, licking his lips to get all the good, flaky crumbs. "Man that was great! Ya got any more?"

She nodded. "Yeah, plus enough batter to start cooking some more if I wanted to." She took another pancake from the other and flipped it in the air, Daxter leaping and twisting in the air to grab it and land, albeit sloppily, on his hind legs.

The next pancake he ate slower, taking his time to enjoy the breakfast treat. "You should make more of these, they're super good!"

Cassie smiled, and with a nostalgic grin, she poured more batter onto the frying pan, watching it spread and bubble with an almost vacant expression. "I'll make sure to do that."


	12. XII, Insanity

...Admittedly, I didn't know how to do this one. None of the characters in the original trilogy (which is what I'm focusing on) really go insane except for Gol and Maia, and at the time I didn't really want to write them. So instead, I decide to do another OC, and do a weird ass format. I think the theme goes better with my mental state, at this point.

* * *

 **XII. Insanity**

[The following is an except between a Police Officer a recent prisoner, who was arrested for driving under the influence with a Blood Alcohol Content of 1.2, as well as being underage. The transcript was taken from video and audio surveillance inside the interrogation room, before the prisoner's bail was paid and she was escorted out of the police station. Following the confidentiality clause, the police officer will be referred to as PO, and the prisoner as VR]

 _Before PO enters the room, VR is seated at a table with her hands cuffed, but is swaying slightly in her seat. Her gaze appears unfocused and she seems dazed. Upon PO's arrival, she turns to look at him, briefly forgetting that she is handcuffed to the table as she attempts to move her hands._

PO: Hello there, Miss [ ].

VR: H'lloooo.

 _Her speech is audibly slurred._

PO: I'm sure that you must be regretting that you were driving under the influence.

VR: Naaaah, I'm not dr'nk. Can't be dr'nk, 'm seventeen.

PO: Exactly, which is why you were arrested.

 _The police officer marks something down on his report, and then turns to leave._

PO: Well, I was just here to see if you were aware if you were drunk and confirm that you still were, which you are. I'll be leaving no-

VR: No! Please! Don' leave like she did.

 _He hesitates before sighing, pulling out the chair opposite of VR and sitting down._

PO: C'mon, spill the beans.

VR: Wha' beans?

 _She laughs before looking at her hands._

VR: M' friend. She left, and 'm tryin' ta get her back. I want her back so bad.

PO: Why'd she leave?

VR: She didn' leave b'cuz she wanted to. She left b'cuz of me. I did somethin' stupid an' everyone thinks she's dead but I don' and I wan' her back so bad.

 _VR begins crying, tears hitting the table as PO sits there awkwardly._

PO: I think… I think she'll come back if you just keep trying?

 _She holds her head in her hands, chest heaving as she whimpers out the next sentence._

VR: I think I'm going insane. Sometimes I can hear her when I know she's not there, and I'm working so hard, I'm working _so hard_ but she's still not here I'm losing my mind. _I just want her back._

 _PO moves to speak again before he is interrupted by the door opening and the station's secretary enters. For confidentiality reasons, she will be referred to as SS._

SS: Sir, her bail was paid.

PO: What? Right now?

SS: Yes, sir. Her guardian is here to escort her home.

 _PO sighs and reaches for his belt, pulling out a key ring and unlocking VR's handcuffs. She gazes confusedly at her wrists before being pulled up by PO._

PO: C'mon, I need to escort you to your guardian.

VR: ...I'm sorry.

PO: I know. I know.


	13. XIII, Misfortune

Ah, Veger, you _could've_ been a good villain, but you ended up falling a bit flat. Still, turning into an Ottsel and those first moments of it tend to be what I enjoy writing, for whatever reason (it'sprobablybecauseI'mafurrybastard). I'm going to have to stop updating daily soon, since I was out of school for nearly a whole week, and I desperately need to catch up. AP Language and AP US History don't like each other, apparently.

* * *

 **XIII. Misfortune**

The transformation was nothing special: a flash of light, a scream beforehand from him because he knew what was about to occur, and everything felt _off_.

His shirt seemed to rub in all the wrong ways, tighter in places it had been loose before, his collar brushing through the fuzz on his cheeks that felt wrong and right at the same time. His pants were gone, something that repulsive rat felt the need to make fun of. "Little _drafty_ , isn't it?"

If it weren't for the fact that he was suspended in the air, and he doubted his ability to hold and fire his pistol with accuracy, he would've shot him. The imposters standing upon the holy, _glorious_ thrones of the Precursors smiled and informed the boy-king of what he needed to do. Once he and the rat had jumped through the portal, he too was dropped, and he charged, more than willing to rip them out of the seats that were reserved for _gods_.

But he was forced back by the same invisible force that grabbed him and, undignifiably, tripped over his own tail. His newly acquired claws clicked and scrabbled against the metal ground for purchase, and he was stopped with the back of his hind paws hovering over the edge of the platform. His tail was raised high, the conscious action ensuring he wouldn't trip as easily again.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Said the fat _ottsel_. His 'brother' in species but in no way soul. He wanted his body back, dammit, and he'd be damned to believe that these were the gods he'd spent his life praying to, searching for guidance like a _fool._

"I will never _quit._ " He snarled, a literal snarl, animalistic in nature. He hid his shock and continued. "Not until you remove your shit-stained asses from the holy Precursor station."

"How many times do we gotta tell you that we _are_ the Precursors?" Said another.

"I refuse to believe such blasphemous nonsense." He growled and attempted to move forward. It took a considerable amount of effort, but he inched away from the edge enough to feel comfortable. "You are not Precursors. I'd rather remain a rat for the rest of my life than believe that."

"Whatever sinks yer boot!" Said the one with the hat covering his eyes.

"It's 'whatever floats your boat' ya moron." Said the one from before, who sighed and turned back to his console. "They're gonna make it, right?"

"Of course." Said the fat one, and it was clear that Veger had been forgotten. "Do not doubt them… yet."

"Uh, doesn't that mean we should doubt them?" Asked the hatted one.

Veger sighed and sat down, wincing as he sat on his tail-disgusting. He could just feel the fringes of that invisible force hovering around him, ready to snap down at a moment's notice. Of all the possible ingrates he could have been around in this state of body, he had to be around a mischief of rats.


	14. XIV, Smile

Admittedly, this one wasn't my favorite to write, mainly because I didn't know where I was _going_ with it. I entirely blame Catcher in the Rye for screwing with my writing style, but that helped craft my own way for writing Daxter since I can kind of see their brains working in similar manners. Still... enjoy? I'm going to have to stop since I need to catch up on my work and edit these little draft thingies a bit better.

Also, I'm probably not going write any continuations for these (as I didn't do all 100 and I don't know if a specific theme, and I don't know if I'll revisit them one day), so if someone wants to write a story with one of these drabbles as the main inspiration, that's fine so long as you contact me and cite me as the inspiration.

* * *

 **XIV. Smile**

Easily the rarest thing to see in Haven City was Jak's smile.

It wasn't like his face was broken, or that Woh'hue's was either. Sure, she could _smile_ , but it was always this false way of sympathy. Plus, you could never tell if she was smiling because she found a situation funny, or if she genuinely like what was happening around her, or if she was trying to tell them in her non-verbal ways that she was okay.

If he was being completely honest, Jak's smiles in Sandover were the same. He smiled because he couldn't really talk, and there needed to be someway for him to convey what he was feeling. They made up their own little language, little hand signals, tiny twitches, to tell each other what they wanted to say. It helped when they needed to be quiet, or when they were in 'time out'. A smile meant he was okay; a smile and a thumbs up meant he was great, or something had happened that was great and he wished Daxter was there to see it; a smile that followed a laugh, a hearty good laugh, meant something was funny.

But in Haven, Jak was all frowns and grunts, and since he was kind of the running man of the Underground, he needed to be Mister Serious-Macho-Man, which meant no smiling. When he did smile, it was like a choir of angels had descended and lit up the world around him.

So he cracked jokes, made Light out of the Dark, and he aimed to get those smiles, one way or another, because dammit, Jak deserved to be happy. He'd been in prison for two years, two years that consisted of Dark Eco injections and experiments and torture and then he had to be a warrior that ran suicide missions on the daily for more than a month, nearly half a year, months spent with his changed friend perched on his shoulder and a near-alien/mute girl at his other arm with a sniper rifle.

Every smile was a small victory, not only for Daxter, but the whole damn world.


End file.
